


The Sentinel and the Saint

by KonstantineXIII



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Dark and Twisty!Lexa, Enemies to Lovers to Friends, F/F, Golden and Sarcastic!Clarke, Rampant Vigilantism, Sex eventually, TW: College, glaring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KonstantineXIII/pseuds/KonstantineXIII
Summary: “I want the world to see that mutants can be good. I want to do right by people like us. Our people,” Clarke gave a small furrow of her brow, “And finding out what Lexa knows,” her eyes went steely, “We have to find out who’s behind this, and what exactly is going on,”“Right,” Octavia drawled, looking away, “You haven’t said why you’re here, though,”“They took our sister,” Lexa cut. She lifted her jaw, “And we’re going to get her back,”





	The Sentinel and the Saint

**Author's Note:**

> massive props to auddish/alphacommander. the ultimate sounding board and idea tree. my dear friend. so so patient as I type one word a week. cannot thank her enough. there is some beautiful art on the way, and I'm insanely excited! 
> 
> For reference, this universe doesn't have Marvel/DC, so ignore me when I accidentally get meta about it. Lexa's costume is based off of Black Canary, and Clarke's on Power Girl.

Lexa paused, coffee cup still poised on her lip, hand stilled over her notes. Well this was unexpected.

As she’d written in her tense small caps, the wide-eyed and big-lipped man she was currently watching was, for lack of a better term, a douche. It was a way of movement he had. A toss of his head and the rough, broad expanding of his chest as he smirked.

That, and he had looked down the barista’s shirt as she leaned to hand him his coffee earlier.

Lexa had been tailing this idiot for two days. Between classes, in the night and early day. The coffee shop had excited her immensely, as he was meeting with some of his friends. Friends that looked far too old and uncomfortable to be in college.

Really, who dressed as a psychology major and wore a Rolex?

She glanced back to the scene playing out before her in compacted frustration. Wasn’t it always the way that a beautiful woman bring ruin? The girl was the sort of attractive to drive one to distraction, and it seemed Bellamy Blake thought so too. Lexa sighed at her own melodramatic observation.

From where she sat, Lexa had noticed her immediately. Blonde, blue-eyed. Slender with full lips, breasts, and ass. She walked with a roll of her hips dangerous enough to stop your breath. And she had strolled over to Bellamy too purposefully to be coincidentally.

“Hi,” her lips formed, Lexa’s eyes sharp even when her ears were too far away.

Looking up, Bellamy broke from his concentrated group, the men all rippling with irritation at the interruption. Blake slathered on a sickening layer of machismo.

“Hey,”

“I saw you,” the girl gestured to the coffee counter, “earlier. And just really wanted to talk to you,” her smile was perfect, and Lexa frowned.

She had walked through the door half a minute ago. Not a chance could that be true. But why was she lying? Stalker? Girlfriend wannabe? She sat back in her chair and flipped through a few sheets. No record of a girlfriend.

Lexa nearly glared at the blonde girl, who sparkled and laughed just lightly enough to be real, but hard enough to be flattering. She was an ego soother, and this moron was taking the bait.

It took everything in her being to not physically throw her pencil down when Bellamy waved off his ruffled acquaintances and stood to follow the girl back to the coffee counter.

He turned back to his goons with a careless, “Later, alright? Same time, same place,”

The brunette’s jaw worked.

Quickly, she scrapped the entire event. She snapped photos of the remaining men and of the blonde. Just as she took the last covert photo, those blue eyes slid over and made direct contact with the phone, and then with Lexa’s own eyes.

It was a split second, and then her attention went back to Bellamy. Lexa brushed it off and gathered her things, considering the outing a wash when the deserted men dispersed.

At least Bellamy had mentioned a ‘later’.

She shouldered her bag and returned to her car, reopening her laptop and downloading the photos. Lexa sighed and decided to wait the man out. Again. An hour later, she watched the blonde woman walk through the door, Bellamy behind her like a dog in heat. She sent him a flirtatious smile and a cutesy little wave and walked off down the sidewalk.

Lexa scoffed softly to herself.

The man let himself watch the girl walk away, eyes pig-black and hungry. This time, Lexa did more than scoff. She watched as he went on with the rest of his day.

Inane.

Mindless.

Not every part of waging war was so glamorous. Take now, for instance. Eating the same spinach and chicken salad from the corner gas station as she’d had for her previous 5 meals. Or ducking into the back seat to wiggle into the black pants, black jacket, and matching boots awkwardly. Her face paint went on in the rear mirror’s reflection.

Still, night had fallen, and Bellamy Blake was finally doing something interesting. As a person, he was revolting. As a mark, incredibly useful. The meat packing district had never been so helpful.

Climbing to the roof of a more central building, Lexa set her duffle against the lip of the complex and settled in to observe. Through her binoculars, Lexa watched Bellamy smooth his hair and finish off a cigarette. He threw it to the ground and kicked it, looking both ways before ducking back inside of an industrial warehouse.

Peering through the slotted windows was fruitless, but Lexa could see that the neighboring warehouses were visibly filled to the ceiling with boxes or equipment. This one – nothing.

“Found you,” Lexa whispered.

She allowed a very brief smile to flash across her features under the lenses. She needed to regroup and plan out an avenue of attack. Judge personnel, routes of escape, estimate what might be inside.

By her count, it’d be another three days before she was comfortable breaking in. Still, she’d consider this a success. That was, until a flash of something caught the edge of her binoculars. Lifting her eyes, she watched in awe as a figure slipped from building to building, trying and failing to stay hidden.

Awe, because the figure didn’t walk. They flew.

From rooftop to rooftop until Lexa saw the flash pause at an adjacent roof, and she quickly focused on it. Her jaw nearly wired shut.

How is it possible that twice in one day, Lexa had never been so upset to see an hourglass-figured blonde?

But this one didn’t have girlish and bubbly features, sparkling at chai lattes and moronic men. This blonde had lips pursed in concentration and focus; eyes trained on the very warehouse Blake had led Lexa to. And she was wearing something… stupid.

A white, long-sleeved leotard with an enormous cut out of the center of the chest. Tucked into a gold skirt with red piping, her knee-high boots and elbow-length gloves matched. Decked out with a swirling golden cape, the stranger’s hair was styled by wind and held back by the gold-trimmed mask over her eyes.

Stupid.

Lexa shouldn’t have been surprised when the woman planted a hand on the building’s wall and leapt off, but she was. Still, the blonde jumped, and slowly descended to the ground, looking around the corner.

_No, no, no, no._

Lexa nearly panicked. This idiot was about to blow her entire plan. In pure reaction, she stood to her full height and relaxed. Like a leashed panther set off the chain, energy crackled to her fingertips, and Lexa willed it into the appropriate form.

A flex of her jaw, a stroke of her hands, and she was poised in an archer’s stance, white blue light submissively purring into the bow and arrow in her hands. She aimed, breathed, and released.

Faster than any real arrow could travel, a tip of lightning struck the building right next to the blonde’s head, embedding in the wall. The woman jerked. Lexa would have rolled her eyes if she hadn’t had grappled the end of the unspooled wire of light, propelling herself down in a blur of darkness.

She landed in a soft crunch of gravel, feline in grace and sheathed power. Immediately, she cast a wicked, crackling blade into her hand and moved to flicker up to the woman’s throat, a soft smell of scorch as she cut off a small lock of hair. The woman pressed reflexively into the side of the building, her eyes wide under her mask, but not afraid.

“Who are you?” Lexa growled.

To her shock, the girl seemed to want to suddenly smile, and her head tilted.

“Well,” the stranger started, “I’m uh,“

Lexa watched in near awe as the blonde’s mind scrambled before her eyes. Try as she might to be a smooth, dramatic figure, the woman’s light eyes tracked to the falling strand of blonde hair Lexa had sheared off, considering.

“I’m uh, golden…” The woman shifted, searching, “Uh, girl? Shit- no. Lass? Yeah, Golden Lass,”

She smiled into Lexa’s stunned, scowling face, a blue-tinged affair of Hollywood-white teeth against the crackling of Lexa’s blade.

This – Lexa refused to let herself think of the obviously pieced together name – this woman turned interested. Staring into the dark eyes of her would-be killer, she looked, challenging, daring Lexa to make a move.

And without meaning to, Lexa watched her. Shitty amber light filtered between them, Lexa’s blade casting them both into stark, fluorescent relief. The girl’s eyes were so blue in the blade’s bright light, they nearly matched the weapon itself.

Pure energy.

But not even blindness would have stopped the smoking rasp of this woman and her voice. It was low, and smooth as a record player’s final moments of static.

“And you?” came that voice again.

Lexa’s jaw worked, and she watched those eyes drift down to admire the motion and play of muscles tucked into her stiff collar, dropping further. She knew what the woman would see. The gap between her jacket’s cuff and her glove’s beginning left little to confuse. A tattoo, black ink stamped delicately into skin, the script bold cursive.

 _Polaris_.

The woman’s forehead wrinkled, and Lexa knew that under the mask, she had lifted an eyebrow, her full lips curling.

“Polaris?” the mutant read, her eyes amused, “Is that your name?”

Lexa’s jaw gave another involuntary twitch – a tell she knew to hide were this woman’s costume not so… distracting.

“If you must,” Lexa grit, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Golden Lass’s lips parted in genuine mirth, her velvet tone mocking, “What, did you think you’d forget it or something?”

Lexa nearly started. She wasn’t used to people not taking her seriously. This woman must either know something she didn’t, or have something Lexa should be wary of.

Before Lexa could get a grip, and before she could ask the mysterious mutant why she was here, the world went on without her. An enormous clang sounded out into the night’s still air, and Lexa snuffed the white-blue blade into her hand, the other clamping over Golden Lass’ still-smirking mouth.

They paused, ears simultaneously straining.

“Shut up Donnie,” a voice said, “I swear I heard something,”

Lexa waited heartbeats, vaguely aware of the woman’s breasts pressing into her forearm. The crush of gravel as feet adjusted.

“Come on, Craig,” a second voice annunciated in lazy tones, “the boss’ll give us shit for being late already,”

“Better being late than tracked. How much shit would be get for bringing someone back here?”

A scoff sounded out, and Lexa frowned at the man’s dismissal.

“Chill the fuck out, would you man? Ain’t no one’s going to find us and then get out alive with Blake’s little pet on ice in the back,”

The woman against the wall’s forehead furrowed, and Lexa’s eyes slid to her in observance. She missed the last words of the men before the grating sound of a door opening and closing ironly.

Lexa removed her hand.

“What do you want?” her low, steeling voice came. Golden Lass’ eyes went serious.

“We all have our reasons for doing what we do,” her tones were low, but she never looked away, “I’m in it for righteousness. I’m one of the few people on the planet who can truly make changes, and humans and mutants alike suffer because of people like Bellamy Blake,”

Golden Lass blinked and her voice gentled slightly, “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I want to help,” her gaze averted from the pure amounts of energy in the black-rimmed eyes, and Lexa ground her teeth.

She searched the flawless face and truly looked. There was something. Something in the tightness of the woman’s eyes. The turn of her lips. She spoke of ideals. There was justice, and truth, and Good in her speech, in the square of her shoulders, the tilt of her head. But those blue eyes were strained; stained.

And Lexa had long since shaken the idea that anyone was truly good.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

Golden Lass’ eyes widened a fraction before she let them narrow in full, glaring at Lexa once more.

“And I told you I don’t care if you do or not,” she paused, her face unreadable as she scanned Lexa like she was just now taking the time to ponder her existence.

“My father was murdered by mutants,” Golden Lass said, years of compartmentalization in her detached tone. Her ice blue eyes flickered to the warehouse’s front, and back to Lexa, “If you wanted a reason to be a cynic about it,”

Lexa did.

The greater good? There was no such thing. Only men who considered themselves the gods of this world, with good as a flexible narrative of convenience. Righteousness, she understood in concept. But vengeance? Vengeance she had taken as a married name.

She let a breath out and worked her jaw, looking away from Golden Lass’ observant gaze. She settled. Squared.

“So what are you doing here?” Lexa asked instead.

Golden Lass nodded, “I seem to be doing a lot of answering your questions tonight,” her lips twisted dryly, “How about you first?”

Lexa did not have time for this bimbo in a cape. Bellamy Blake was holding a meeting, and she needed intelligence on it. She fidgeted, wondering if it would be quicker to kill this woman or not.

“How about this,” her stream of thought was interrupted by the blonde’s smoking voice, “I have some scary good hearing. And there are six,” she paused, cocking her head, “seven,” she corrected, “seven dudes in there, and all of them are talking about hitting some place called Second House. Mean anything to you?”

Lexa took a millisecond to adjust to the woman’s shift, but kept pace in a heartbeat.

“It’s a shelter for mutant teenagers,” she recited from her mental Rolodex, “What do you mean ‘hit’?”

Golden Lass shrugged, blasé.

“They’re just talking logistics now about the building’s schematics, nothing interesting,”

Lexa looked to the iron separating them. If Blake was planning a hit, that could mean anything. Robbery, arson, kidnapping, mass execution, or simple graffiti. She frowned.

“I’m going to tail him,” she said, still thinking, “If you can hear-“

A sweep of wind and a breaking of glass met Lexa’s senses, and she looked up to see Golden Lass’ cape disappearing into the warehouse, followed by loud shouts and the unmistakable sound of a gun going off several times.

“I should have killed her,” she murmured.

Lexa pulled at the well of energy inside her. It was always there, it always had been there. Drawing on it felt as simple as lifting a finger; almost as soon as she wished it, it was done. The shapes she created with pure will, and no sooner had she thought of a pair of short swords did they appear in her hands, weighty and real. They hummed with her own energy, but were solid as the real thing.

She rolled her neck. Golden Lass had named her Polaris. It was as good a name as any, Lexa thought. She cringed at the loud scream of metal which she imagined came from something being ripped off of what was never meant to be separated. Unsubtle it was.

In short movements, she had cut a hole through the side of the warehouse, and the rectangle fell away as she kicked through it. Lexa strode with purpose, and Polaris came out the other side.

Golden Lass had been right. Half a dozen men were scrambling to find weapons or cover. There were tall storage containers arranged haphazardly around the warehouse, and Polaris didn’t like the layout. Still, three men were currently engaged with Golden Lass. The woman grabbed a man by the collar and threw him bodily into another, twisting to fight another hand-to-hand. Off to the side, one was working on frantically un-jamming a pistol.

Polaris grit her teeth, and turned to the task at hand. A man rushed at her, a piece of rebar in hand, and she deflected it easily. She kneed him in the stomach and threw one of her swords at the struggling pistol man, the blade slipping between his ribs and downing him.

She dodged the first man’s second swing, and swept his feet out from under him in a ground-kick. Popping back up, she dealt a swift blow to the back of his head and moved on.

Polaris searched briefly, her eyes lighting on another man appearing around a corner in front of her. He grinned cruelly, and caressed the sub-machine gun in his hands. She swore, summoned a shield, and crouched behind it as he open fired.

“Polaris!” she heard, and looked to see Golden Lass launch over her head, “Switch!”

Polaris nodded, the corner of her eye watching as Golden Lass seemed to double over in the air as the spray of bullets hit her, but she only grunted. Finding her own targets, Polaris cast several darts to her hands in quick succession and threw them at the four men in her sight. They went down easily enough, and she summoned a pair of forearm batons to smash them all into unconsciousness as she came upon them. A scuffle of a body against the pavement met her ears over the ruckus of Golden Lass’ fight, and Polaris turned to find Bellamy Blake scrambling up from where he had tripped in his run from the heroine.

Polaris narrowed her eyes and gave chase. The man heard, and whimpered as he started to sprint to the back of the warehouse. He searched at the band of his pants, and his hand fluttered behind him with a pistol. Blake fired erratically, not bothering to look behind him.

Polaris quickly doubled back, dodging out of the way and coming back up with a glowing shield. She breathed hard and drove after the man.

He reached the farthest storage container before she did, and she watched as he slammed into it at nearly full speed, tapping frantically at a keypad on the door. The pad blinked green, and the man’s sweating face spread in a sinister grin. He turned to face where Polaris had stopped.

“Good luck, bitch,” he spat, his voice shaking. He reached a fist back to bang on the door, and pushed away from the container in a sprint. Polaris cursed and turned to pursue. And she would have, if not for the explosion that erupted from the container.

The burst of fire shoved her off-balance, and she landed roughly on her side, looking up at the still aflame trailer. The doors were off their hinges, but Polaris watched as one was pushed open, a man stepping out and stretching lazily.

His eyes found Polaris, and he grinned.

And disappeared.

Only to reappear three inches from Polaris’ nose, hand curled in an arching fist. On instinct, she dropped to the ground, and grunted as she pushed herself into a leg sweep, the man tripping and finding the ground as well. She moved to mount him, casting glowing blue brass knuckles into her hand, when the man below her winked, and she caught movement in her peripherals.

Polaris was too slow, and the kick clipped her in the hip as she sprang up and away to see- the same man. Her dark eyes ran over the scene in front of her.

Twins? One was helping the other up, but before Polaris could blink twice, a third one appeared. And then a fourth. She nearly groaned.

Clones. It just had to be clones.

Polaris breathed deeply and slid her foot backwards in preparation. She raised her hands, palms open, and pulled air in through her aching ribs. Watching. While she set, the mutant and his clones readied themselves.

“You mind telling me what day it is, sweetheart?” the Original said, shaking his clothes out, “Don’t rightly know how long I was under. That devil woman’s onehelluva bitch,”

His thick southern drawl was high and waspish, and Polaris grimaced.

“What woman?” she asked lowly.

The man received a firm clap upside the back of the head from one of his copies, while another grinned at her broadly, a gold tooth glittering.

“Name’s Billy, pretty lady,” Number Three said, “What say we just forget this whole thing and we won’t have to teach no ladies no lessons?”

Polaris’ eyes narrowed.

“Guess that’s a no then, Billy,” Number Four said to Three. Two and Five gave drawling, ridiculous laughs, while Six hucked out a, “Guess so, Billy!”

“Boys!” the Original Billy twanged, “You know them rules! Boss Man says it’s wakey wakey time. Let’s get ‘er done!”

And then Polaris was a whirlwind of movement.

Pieces of Billy flew at her from every angle; fists, kicks, arms reaching for holds. Polaris broke free from the ring the Billys had formed, and sent a kick to a temple, knocking the clone out cold.

“Billy!” One shouted. Three turned to her, glaring.

Polaris summoned a three-sectioned staff as they charged her once more, knocking them down like possessed dolls – they only popped back up again. It started to wear on her.

Distantly, she recognized that the gun shots in the front of the warehouse were far and few between now, but Polaris felt like she had been fighting for hours, her muscles turning to lead as she swung, dipped, blocked, and threw. The Billys, by her count, had multiplied to 38, 32 of which were unconscious on the ground.

Her footwork eventually backed her into a crate, and Billy Twenty handed Billy Thirty a loose piece of plywood.

“Yer slowin’ down,” Seven grinned. Twenty Three shook the hand of the newly minted Thirty Nine, who crooked his golden-tinted grin at her smugly, “We go on forever,”

Polaris, breathing slightly more laboriously, spat the well of blood she’d received from an uppercut that had caught her tongue, on the ground.

“Forever?”

“Well,” Thirteen scratched his head ponderously, “Till’ round about a hundred, I reckon,”

Polaris glared, squaring her shoulders, “Only 68 more to go,”

Just as she spun a bo staff over her shoulder in preparation, a ragged voice cut over the tension thrumming through her body.

“Hold it,”

Golden Lass.

“Billy!” Thirty Four shouted in alarm.

Golden Lass walked into their makeshift arena in scuffling steps. She had the man in front of her with one arm cinched behind his back in a painful-looking hold, leading him forward, another arm around his throat.

“I found this one trying to sneak away,” her rasping vocals thrummed hotly.

Polaris watched the Billys exchange a collective look, her brow furrowing as the Original, his back to Golden Lass, shot Polaris a sly wink. Her eyes widened as she noticed the clones setting their feet. A second of a beat settled between them all, and something fell into place.

“Golden Lass-!” Polaris harshed, just before being drowned out.

“Yee-haw, boys! Git ‘em!” Billy screamed.

Even before he’d finished, the Billys exploded into multiplication, their bodies filling the space enough to rush the masked woman. Suddenly engulfed in a mosh-pit, Golden Lass instinctively loosened her hold and started batting the Billys away as best she could. Instead of the neat filing of one-on-two fighting, this was a riot. A mad dash in an attempt to overwhelm.

Polaris cast forearms batons to her arms in pure self-defense, but realized quickly she wasn’t the target. She watched as Golden Lass slowly rose over the crowd of Billys, shaking herself of the rushing men like a dog ridding itself of ticks.

It was chaos.

And then it was over.

One moment Polaris was struggling to remain on her feet, and another, the Billys had vanished in an instant, called back to wherever their Original had escaped to. The dust kicked up around them, and all Polaris could make out was the ruin of their surroundings, dirt, sweat, and blood in her mouth. And Golden Lass’ heaving chest.

“Well, shit,” the woman muttered.

Immediately, Polaris saw red.

“You,” she growled, her fists clenching as her rage built inside her chest and coalesced like a tide, “You have  _ruined_  something tonight,”

Golden Lass looked faintly surprised for a moment, before her mouth turned downwards in a frown.

“Excuse me?”

Polaris felt like throwing her head back in indignation, but anger kept her body welded in place.

“You have. No idea. Of what you’ve just done,” she rumbled dangerously.

The golden-caped woman edged into a scowl.

“You don’t even know me,” she iced, “You’re not the only one with powers and a cause, Polaris. We stopped a hit on homeless mutant kids. How are you mad?”

Polaris took grave steps toward Golden Lass.

“We did no such thing,” Polaris intoned, glaring mightily, the luminous blue of her powers sparkling through her eyes threateningly, “We stopped a  _plan_  for a hit,” she paused in front of Golden Lass, their chests nearly brushing, “We let Blake get away to plan another day, another location, and now we don’t even know where that will be,”

Golden Lass understood. Her features under the mask went hard in a suffering look of allowance.

“Fine. But we sent a message. Blake’ll be thinking twice about doing anything now,”

“Making him harder to find,”

Golden Lass huffed, “He’s not my only lead,”

Polaris stilled, her eyes shifting between the heroine’s glacial blue eyes.

“Lead to what?”

Golden Lass’s expression went agitated, “Don’t play dumb. Blake’s a pimp. A middle man. He doesn’t have the brains for an operation,” she glared at Polaris stepping forward, “Meaning, he’s working for someone. Someone who evidently wants to hurt mutant kids. And you know it,” she squinted, slowing.

“No,” Golden Lass’ eyes roved over Polaris’ face, detecting, dividing, hunting, “No, you know much more than that, don’t you?” she whispered.

Polaris’ jaw shut with a mortifyingly loud click. She could have cursed, her tell always so damned obvious.

Satisfaction bled into Golden Lass’ eyes, and Polaris couldn’t stop from visually tracing her appearance. She shut her eyes, breathing. On opening them, she saw Golden Lass’ expression turn serious.

“We want the same thing here, Polaris,” her rusked murmur vibrated down Polaris’ spine. It took resolve to conjure the grit to her voice, but she managed.

“You have no idea what I want,”

“You want to stop Blake and whoever he’s working for, don’t you?”

Polaris didn’t reply, and Golden Lass nodded.

“We can help each other,”

“I don’t need your help,”

“If I hadn’t been here, that Billy idiot would have beaten you to death,”

“If you hadn’t been here, I’d have caught Blake on my own!”

Golden Lass scoffed, “Maybe in six months,”

Polaris grit her jaw, nearly biting her tongue off in her ferocity. Golden Lass’ somber eyes mingled against Polaris’ own for long beats. When neither showed any signs of giving, the flamboyant fighter sighed. She floated upwards, backing away from Polaris aerially.

“Think about it. I’ll see you around,” she waved softly, twisting in the air to fly back out the window she had shattered.

Polaris swore.

 

* * *

 

The slam of a car door, and Lexa slumped backwards in her seat, breathing out a sigh and closing her eyes.

A pounding ran along one temple and echoed through her skull. A small groan left the vigilante’s lips, and Lexa scrunched her nose at herself for the rouge sound.

Golden Lass. Blake. Second House. Polaris. Billy. A bitch. A boss. Mutants.

Costia.

Another sigh left her ribs to ache, and she rallied herself enough to start the car and drive home. She would log her findings later.

The flash of streetlights above her reminded her of looking up to see the brilliant twist of Golden Lass’ cape as they fought, and Lexa grimaced.

This was not what she needed.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, is anyone sitting here?”

Immediately, Lexa sat up and jerked her legs into her, apologizing for the inelegant sprawl she had maintained until that point. She had always hated people like her. The people who took up space in the campus library at couches meant for six with just one person and their belongings. She snapped the books in her lap shut and collected her things out of the way.

“Oh, sorry- sorry. I- Oh-,” she paused, seeing the face above her.

Her interrupter was a beautiful, even-featured blonde girl. One she had seen before.

“Uh, hi,” Lexa covered unstylishly, “No, go ahead,” The girl gave her an easy smile, and Lexa felt her own shoulders lighten.

“Cool,”

The blonde swung her bag off her shoulders and sat next to Lexa with a grace so pronounced, Lexa’s own movements felt clumsy and unpolished. It was a sleepy afternoon on campus, and Lexa was between classes at DC’s University. The girl shot her a happy smile.

“I’m Clarke,”

“Lexa,” she nodded.

For whatever reason, Clarke found her response amusing before she bit her lip slightly.

“You’re in O’Darren’s 9am poli-sci, right?”

Lexa started and nodded again. Clarke smiled, relaxation in every movement, “You definitely looked familiar. How are you doing with the reading she assigns? It’s absolutely kicking my ass. I can barely get it all done, and then there’s the analysis. Dear God the analysis. It’s a real fear of mine that I’ll be called on to report in class,” she gave a playful shudder and grinned at the silent girl next to her.

Lexa wanted to stare. This girl, who ever she was, was speaking to her like they’d been friends for years. Realizing that the most she’d contributed to the exchange with only her name and several nods, Lexa cleared her throat, looking down.

“Yeah,” she swallowed, “Well,” she adjusted her glasses and glanced up to find Clarke watching her kindly. She didn’t pressure her to answer, and didn’t seem to mind Lexa’s collection of thoughts.

“Professor O’Darren actually doesn’t mind book briefings,” she offered carefully.

Clarke cocked her head.

“What’s a book briefing?”

Lexa frowned slightly, confused, “Are you a political science major?”

Clarke gave a guilty smile, “Not exactly. This is just an elective for me. I graduate this May with an Art Therapy degree,”

Lexa cocked an eyebrow that had accidentally charmed hundreds of women. Her lips twisted in tandem, “ _Early Political Theory of Organized Crime_ , and Art Therapy. I can see how the two relate,”

Clarke laughed aloud, delighted at Lexa’s humor. She shrugged and splayed her hands.

“What can I say? I’m attracted to monotony,”

Lexa took her turn to laugh, her eyes light. Clarke smiled back. A chime caught Clarke’s attention, and she checked her phone.

“Crap,” she quieted, reading. Her eyes refocused on Lexa, who looked on with interest, “Hey, I actually have somewhere to be,” Clarke grimaced, “Would you mind giving me your number so I can bother you about that book thing O’Darren likes?”

For some reason, Lexa found herself nodding and reciting the correct numbers to her civilian cell phone. Clarke was now one of three people to have the digits.

“Thanks,” Clarke smiled, bounding up, “I’ll text you. It was really nice to meet you Lexa,”

“Nice to meet you,” Lexa echoed, completely unsurprised when Clarke threw a wink and a wave to her as she walked off.

Lexa felt like she had just spent time staring at a hurricane. She shook her head and refocused on the reading in her lap. She glowered at the page. An archive of newspaper articles currently opened to a local paper’s headline, ‘Mount Weather Industries CEO Steps Down, Hands Over Company to Son’.

Her eyes glazed over Cage Wallace’s smarmy face, his father’s tired, kind smile in the background.

 

* * *

 

Her only warning was the crush of gravel. It wasn’t entirely surprising. ‘Entirely surprising’ someone like Polaris would have been met with a knife to the chest.

But she had felt an anxiety in a chamber of her heart for days now. It was the feeling of expectation, and it was nearly relief to have it fulfilled. Now, here, crouched on the rooftop in the lower-west side, Golden Lass touched down next to her.

“Do you ever sleep?” Golden Lass wondered aloud, “It’s midnight,”

“Nice tights,” Polaris scorned, her eyes still trained on an adjacent rooftop.

Golden Lass rolled her eyes.

“You’re literally wearing leather pants,”

Polaris huffed, “At least I don’t have a cape,”

“Well, that’s what people who can fly wear. You wouldn’t know, would you?”

Polaris turned her glare toward the heroine, and felt her chest catch at the shine of her hair, soft and clean on the moonlight. Her jaw worked.

“You are insufferable,”

The woman flicked a triumphant smile towards her, “Now that was just lazy,”

Polaris breathed deeply.

“Can we focus, please?”

“So there’s a ‘we’ now?” Golden Lass lighted on intently.

Polaris’ jaw twitched. Her costume was ridiculous, her motives grey, but Golden Lass, unfortunately, was not an idiot.

“Only so far as our interests are aligned,” she shorted out, her heart beating oddly as Golden Lass smiled and sat against the roof’s lip in front of her. She somehow found a way to fold her legs underneath herself in a manner that brought attention to her absolutely flawless physique. Her costume followed the flat planes of her stomach, tight enough to allow shadows to play over her obliques. Her smooth curves were accentuated even more by the generous swell of breasts pouring from her chest. The heavy teardrops moved with her, but held tightly to the material of her outfit.

Polaris mutely wondered if one of her powers was putting off attractive pheromones, before blushing wildly under her paint at the errant thought.

“So basically, we’re on the same team while you get to keep up your tall, dark, and mysterious routine?” Golden Lass drawled, an eyebrow surely raised.

Polaris sent the woman a slightly dirty look that brought an outright grin to Golden Lass’ lips.

“Noted,” she murmured jovially. Then, she leaned her head against the wall and sighed, closing her eyes to the stars, “I’ve been circling the local and semi-unlocal shelters for any sign of bad guy activity,” she said smoothly, “Nothing,”

Polaris allowed a surprised look to cross her features, and Golden Lass opened her eyes soon enough to notice. Besides being the first expression she’d ever seen on Polaris’ face that wasn’t a scowl, it brought her own to frowning.

“I do plan things, you know,” she said dryly. It sent her stomach to swoop when Polaris’ lips twitched in vague amusement. Still, the dark woman nodded.

“Good to hear,” Polaris returned, “Based on your catch that they’re concerned with building schematics, I pulled the shelters’ building codes from City Hall and compared them. If I had to pick one of them to break into, it would have been Second House based on the last time its security system was updated and the fact that it’s located in an area notorious for easy locks. Barring that, since Blake may have suspected we figured out his plan for that hit, I’d pick here,” she nodded toward the building under surveillance.

“The JustUs Center,” Polaris looked back to Golden Lass’ puzzled face, “It was robbed two weeks ago according to a police report. It was actually robbed four weeks ago, but the cops didn’t care until then,” she gave another nod to the house, “No, this is my bet. It’s the easiest target,”

Golden Lass was silent for a moment.

“So, the answer is no then? You don’t ever sleep?”

Polaris glared, and Golden Lass held her hands up in surrender.

“Fine. I’m impressed, calm yourself,” she eased, “It’s a good bet. I’ll just feel better when we catch these assholes,”

Polaris’ attention broke, alarmingly sharp upon the golden-haired woman.

“Is that what you want to do? Catch them? And then what?”

Golden Lass looked the tense figure over.

“Catch them, question them, start figuring things out. Yes,” she leaned forward slightly, and she didn’t miss the way Polaris’ eyes darted down to her chest and back up again.

“As a start,” she finished.

Polaris only looked back at her quietly and nodded, not commenting. Instead, she shifted focus.

“How much do you know?”

Golden Lass tipped her head, “What, show you mine when I don’t know you’ll show me yours?” she held a smirk while her eyes roamed Polaris’ kneeling form for a split second, “I don’t think so,”

Polaris huffed out a sigh, thanking the stars her paint covered any discernable blush on her cheeks.

“So be it,”

“You’re seriously not going to tell me what you know?” Golden Lass asked.

Polaris shot her a hard look.

“I can control only what I know. And since I don’t know you, you’re a liability,”

Golden Lass’ expression turned sour.

“Fine,” she spat, “But I expect a return,”

“Of?”

“Trust,”

Polaris buried her scoff, instead narrowing her eyes. Golden Lass tightened her jaw and rolled her eyes.

“Look,” the blonde heroine braced, “I know enough to say that there are way more of them than there are us. Even one person more on the same side as you could tip the scales. If you don’t want to be a team, fine. But pairing up? Two is always better than one, and you know it. You’d have to be a moron to turn down the kind of help I’m offering,” her blue eyes accused while they persuaded, “Either a moron, or a prideful brat intentionally shooting herself in the foot for the sake of arrogance,”

Polaris was quiet, eyes never leaving the woman’s, a heat coiling in her stomach. But Golden Lass recognized a challenge when she was staring at one.

The night’s urban rhythm beat between them, cars, dogs, and a 10-mile radius’ collective harmony of droning street lights. It filled the space between them, and Polaris grit her jaw. Golden Lass was right. Her resolve showed behind her eyes, and Golden Lass’ lips pulled smug. But before a self-righteous word escaped, they were interrupted.

A shattering of glass snapped their attention to the street below, and Polaris caught the skidding of a liquor bottle’s shards across the asphalt, the perpetrator’s stride still stumbling from the force of his throw.

“Get your ass over here with that fuckin’ camera,” the thrower growled to another man. Across the sidewalk, another man stealthily slipped an object out of his bag and held it to his face.

A tremendous belch, and the first man sat down hard on the sidewalk, sniffing into the night air as he lit a cigarette.

“Know what you’re lookin for?” he asked.

The camera man lowered the lens to nod, his voice more stable and covert in his answer, inaudible to Polaris’ ears. What she could hear was the low rasp of Golden Lass’ quick inhale and exhale of silent emotion in response to whatever he had said.

“Good,” the inebriated one announced, waving broadly, “Ten minutes, then we’re gettin the fuck out of here,”

The quieter photographer nodded again and set to work, his camera pointing and shooting at different angles as he shuffled along. Polaris noted the obvious; this was reconnaissance. Next to her, she felt Golden Lass shift into a crouch, and reflexively reached out to place a clamping hand down on the woman’s thigh. Golden Lass’ brow furrowed, Polaris immediately removing her hand.

She shook her head quickly.

‘ _We wait_ ’ she mouthed, her glare significant in reminder of their last encounter. The caped woman huffed, looking to the shelter, but nodded. Polaris went back to work, satisfied.

She took her own photographs of the two, and spent careful minutes noting down when the photographer focused on any particular area. When the ascribed timer ran out, the obnoxiously drunk man shepherded them away.

“I should follow them,” Golden Lass said intently, watching the men.

Polaris shook her head, looking over the photos she had taken.

“Don’t bother. That’s Otis and Gary Bouredaux. They’re not even con men, they’re gophers. They pop up every so often for footwork like this. They get paid by secure drop in a mall,” she didn’t look up as she packed her things away, “Dead ends,”

Golden Lass stared at the dark woman.

“I need to know what you know,” she said.

Polaris grit her teeth, looking to the skyline of their city. DC was a big place. Too big of a place for her alone. As much as she wanted to think just her efforts were enough, she had little results to show for it.

“There’s a firehouse. In Ivy City, where the old Amtrak rails used to run,” her dark eyes glittered as she pulled dignity into her spine and postured, “Meet me tomorrow,”

Golden Lass paused.

“Are you telling me you have a secret lair?”

Polaris’ already threatening stare rolled downright black.

“Tomorrow. 11pm,”

“Whatever you say,”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey,” Clarke slid into the seat next to Lexa, and the girl adjusted her glasses self-consciously.

“Clarke,” she tried not to smile, but the woman was absolutely beautiful. Who wouldn’t?

“How’s it going?” Clarke breezed, getting her things together in preparation for class.

“Well,”

Blue eyes shot an amused appreciation to the girl, and Lexa flushed lightly. She was aware that was the incorrect colloquial response, but she had an adoration for grammar she couldn’t shake.

“Good to hear,” Clarke’s vocals smoked, her smile evident, “And thanks again for that outline, it’s already saved me hours. Hours I spent doing more productive things. Like staying inside and sleeping,”

Lexa tipped her head.

“Not an outdoors girl, then?”

Clarke laughed, organizing her table space, “I love the outdoors. As long as there’s hot water, hot food, indoor plumbing, at least four different options for soap, and a mint on my pillow. Then yes, I love the outdoors,”

Lexa felt a genuine smile crawl over her lips.

“I doubt I could rough it like that,”

Clarke scoffed, delighted at her new friend’s humor.

“Could have fooled me,” she cast an eye to the flannel button up Lexa wore, and the brunette smothered her laugh. She dared an eye roll.

“It’s a uniform. I’ll get kicked out of the Guild if I don’t wear this at least once a week,”

Clarke’s heart beat heavy for a drum and she smirked.

“Bisexuals are so much more flexible,” she preened, “We only have to send bi-annual sacrifices to Gal Gadot and Tom Hardy, and we’re good,”

Lexa paused, processing.

“Was that a pun?”

Clarke smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. Their professor started making opening remarks to the lecture, and they quieted. For 60 minutes, Lexa had to put energy into focusing. Clarke made her laugh. She’d nearly forgotten what a normal laugh felt like in her chest. It was like blowing dust out of flute; pulling a bowstring over a forgotten violin; oiling a reed.

Clarke was musical, she realized. Would it be so terrible to listen?

“So,” Clarke started in after class, “Any big plans this weekend?”

She seemed a little breathless, and Lexa accidentally dropped her pen as hope tripped into her heart.

“I sort of have a... thing tonight,” she tried awkwardly, Clarke’s expression amused, “But other than that, no,” she touched her glasses.

The blonde smiled, packing her things.

“Well, text me,” she smirked, “I’d love to buy you a coffee in exchange for that outline,”

“O-okay,”

“See ya, Lexa,”

Clarke gave a wink and an exaggerated jaunt of her hips as she walked away, and Lexa watched stupidly. She could have slapped herself. She was a 24-year-old vigilante, powerful enough to kill a man with a flick of her wrist. Who had just stuttered because a beautiful woman had smiled at her.

 

* * *

 

The firehouse would have been creepy if it hadn’t been so well lit. On the second floor, there was nothing but brick walls, a long table, a computer, and a cot. Plus, an interesting idea of wall décor.

Golden Lass had touched down through an open window, Polaris waiting and somehow already angry. The darkly dressed woman wore her traditional leather outfit and face paint, a beautiful twist to her irritated lips as she launched into speech.

It was difficult. Here, Polaris wasn’t hidden in the dark. Golden Lass could see every curve, every outline, every texture in the woman’s clothes. In the light, Polaris was so much more… human. So much more reachable. She wasn’t some creature of the night. She was a woman. The idea of it made her so much more desirable, that idea that she was within reach.

And yet, so far outside of it.

“Are you going to listen or are you going to stare?”

“Depends if you’re going to say anything interesting,”

Polaris’ jaw flexed before she turned, Golden Lass’ lips curling flirtatiously.

“Try to focus,”

“On…?”

Polaris’ expression didn’t flinch, the heroine sighing as some subtle form of apology.

“Fine, go on,”

Polaris nodded, gesturing to the brick wall under her attention. It was mapped, floor to ceiling, ten feet wide, in neat research. Lines of chalk spidered between faces, bullet points, printed pictures of buildings, and question marks. It was like looking into the mind of a serial killer.

“This is everything I’ve been able to put together,” she started lowly, her eyes critical of her own progress, “I have more pieces, but this is the puzzle. I just need to fit it all together,” her jaw flexed, but Golden Lass didn’t interrupt. Polaris pointed to the central diagram on the wall, the heading titled ‘Mount Weather Industries’.

“MWI. Multi billion dollar Fortune 500 conglomerate leading several industries in R&D, technology, and innovation. I know they’re behind this, but I can’t find sufficient proof, let alone a direct causal link,”

“But what is ‘this’?” Golden Lass scraped. Polaris breathed harshly through her nose.

“Someone is taking children,”

“What?”

Polaris’ eyes didn’t move from her trace of the wall.

“I don’t know why, and I don’t know what they’re doing with them, but someone wants access to mutant children. These kids are disappearing slowly. They’re taken only from shelters or police stations before they’re documented, and it’s taking me too long to comb the financial records to notice the decline in expenses,”

“Targeting places no one would notice they were from?”

“Yes,” Polaris touched a spot on the wall, “I can’t find any trace of them, and I didn’t know anything until I found Blake,” she sneered, “He’s a middle man to someone, but I found him when a gopher called Johnny Sassoon gave his name up. Blake has financial ties to MWI, and his official title is a Project Manager for their Creative Research team. Despite what I want it to be, MWI is a legitimate business,”

Polaris pushed off the wall to glance back at Golden Lass, “Johnny Sassoon is dead now,”

Golden Lass’ eyes were dark, “They got rid of a liability. How do you know these child disappearings are linked to MWI?”

Polaris’ eyes were dead serious, “They’re kidnappings, Golden Lass. Not dissapearings. And because,” she turned back around, “I finally found and followed Blake a week ago to his loft. While he was out, I broke in and searched his apartment. I found technology so advanced there’s only one place he could have gotten it from. They were trinkets, but nothing the market will see for years,” she went to look through some files and bring out photos, “I found seven sets of keys to identical vans, an arms room, a safe, and –“ she threw a picture down, Golden Lass’ hands balling to fists, “a child’s teddy bear in the garbage,”

Polaris flips a few more files, “I pulled what I believe is hair, but I don’t have access to a medical lab to get any results,”

She stopped, looking back to the chart.

“MWI is controlled by a board and a principle CEO, with a dozen subsidiary companies. Cage Wallace is currently that CEO, the kidnappings coinciding with the turnover of the company. He’s notoriously anti-mutant, but I don’t have enough evidence for any actionable force,”

Golden Lass nodded.

It was barely anything. It was suspicion and conjecture, causation held together by threads and something flirting paranoia. But it all rang too true. She had witnessed the Second House plan, the recon for JustUs. People were after these kids. There were too many questions. And if MWI had anything to do with it, no one would even bother with a legitimate investigation. MWI was a titan of industry. But the stakes were too high to ignore.

“Where do we start?”

Polaris nodded, trying not to show her relief.

“We need to find Blake,” she ground, “He’s a weak link in the chain. Reckless, unpredictable, and addicted to the chase of his work. If we can get him, I can crack him. He knows the network, and he knows the big picture,”

Golden Lass watched the woman carefully, “Did you get into his safe?”

“No,” Polaris frowned, “There’s some kind of… energy field around it,”

“What about Billy?”

Polaris nodded, “He’s a lead, yes. I’ll look into it,”

Golden Lass rolled her eyes, “I can help with that. I have resources too,”

The dark-haired woman didn’t respond, and Golden Lass breathed laboriously.

“Fine. I’m going to watch the JustUs center, you stay here and… Google,”

Polaris grit her teeth.

“I have done my research. My strategy now is to get eyes on the ground. I am tired of waiting for something to reveal itself,”

“Hence your stalking and smashing,”

“ _You_ are the one crushing through windows,” Polaris snarled.

Golden Lass resisted the urge to twitch in irritation. It hadn’t been her best move.

“I’ll keep the shelter under my watch,” she tossed, “I’ll find you if there’s anything to report,”

“Some times the unremarkable are the most significant details,”

Golden Lass scoffed, “What, _now_ you want nightly pow-wows and gossip dates?”

Polaris scorched a look at the beautiful heroine.

“I have no intention of using your help by half. Either commit to this or get the hell out of my sight,” it was a roiling seethe that nearly has Golden Lass looking surprised. Instead, she breathed deeply and nodded.

“Alright,” she looked off into the maze of Polaris’ mind, “Tomorrow. The rooftop across from the JustUs center,”

Polaris’ posture eased and she dipped her dark head. The woman’s masked face went conflicted before she tossed her hair.

“Give me the DNA you pulled from Blake’s apartment,” Golden Lass braced, “I can get it analyzed,”

Polaris narrowed her eyes at the woman.

“How?”

Golden Lass laughed darkly, “What’s your first name?” Polaris had to bite her tongue from swearing uncontrollably. Golden Lass looked irritated, “I have the means. Now commit to helping,”

Polaris looked like she had to fight herself at every movement, but she retrieved a clear plastic bag and handed it over to the blonde carefully. It was like offering a steak to someone else as she starved.

“I don’t have to tell you to-“

“No,” Golden Lass bit, “You don’t,” she tried to relax, tried to have sympathy for the absolute _ass_ Polaris was being.

“You can trust me, you know,” she murmured. Polaris watched her tensely and didn’t reply. Blue eyes tossed and she pat herself on the back for even trying, “See you tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,”

Polaris watched with intensely anxious eyes as Golden Lass flew away, desperately convincing herself that this wasn’t a mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> I estimate maybe five chapters out of this.
> 
> With Love,  
> K&A


End file.
